


Deeper

by roadsoftrial



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Bloodletting, Dealing With Trauma, Don't Try This At Home, Established Relationship, Kink Exploration, Knifeplay, M/M, Sex as Therapy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-31
Updated: 2018-12-31
Packaged: 2019-09-25 07:30:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17117072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roadsoftrial/pseuds/roadsoftrial
Summary: ‘Is… is there a way to make it… better?’ Noctis asks, finally pulling himself out of his own head.‘I could see someone, like my dad wants. Ramble on and on about it for months until maybe, eventually, something changes,’ Gladio spits.‘…Or?’‘Or I could… keep bleeding until I can associate it with… something more positive.’(When he struggles to cope with the aftermath of the incident that lead to the scar on his face, Gladio asks Noctis for help.)





	Deeper

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jumpsoap](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jumpsoap/gifts).



> Written for Jumpsoap as part of the FFXV Holiday Gift Exchange 2018! Happy holidays my dear, I hope you enjoy this humble offering! 
> 
> (Please mind the tags before reading. It should go without saying, please do not try this at home before doing proper research!! Be safe my children!)

‘Fuck _yes,_ I actually cut you, holy shit!’ Noctis gloats, throwing his arms in the air and running around whooping to no one in particular. Besting Gladio during sparring is usually a feat in and of itself, and the fact that he was able to do it so quickly, so easily, is worth celebrating. Using real swords is always a bit risky, however, but if a sharp cut on his boyfriend’s leg is what it takes to gain bragging rights, then that’s a sacrifice Noctis is willing to make. Gladio will understand, he’s sure. Besides, they have plenty of potions at the tip of their fingers.

‘Gladio?’

His question is met with silence, then heavy breathing that’s much too fast to be the result of their sparring, interrupted by the reverberation of Gladio’s heavy sword hitting the ground. There is Gladio, usually so tall and proud, collapsing onto the floor like he’s moving in slow motion, rolling onto his back, eyes wide and unmoving, the pace of his breathing growing alarmingly fast, each intake shallow and desperate.

‘Fuck,’ Noctis whispers, and throws his weapon to the floor, runs towards Gladio, falling to his knees. His mind races as he tries to remember what to do in those situations, but he draws a blank as he slowly start to succumb to panic.

‘What the fuck is going on?’ Cor’s voice thunders behind him, and the sight of Noctis’ frightened face, of Gladio hyperventilating on the floor as blood oozes from his thigh must be a telling picture enough, because he doesn’t waste a second before rushing from the training room’s entrance to Gladio’s side, shoving Noctis out of the way before summoning a potion and smashing it against Gladio’s chest before Noctis can even comprehend what is happening. The wound closes and heals itself within seconds, but Gladio’s breathing doesn’t even out.

‘You’re fine, Gladio. You’re safe. You’re fine,’ Cor whispers, grabbing Gladio’s face with both hands, forcing him to turn his head and look at him. He repeats these words over and over again until Gladio can breathe properly again. The pants turn into sobs, deep and broken, unlike anything Noctis has heard before.

It takes another five minutes before Gladio is well enough to sit up, and five more before he can get up so Cor can walk him to the infirmary.

‘You,’ he points at Noctis, ‘go wait in my office.’ His voice is firm and categorical, and Noctis heads to the small room in the Citadel’s east wing without a fight.

—

Noctis can’t think of anything to say when Cor asks him why they thought sparring with real swords was a good idea, nor when he asks if he even knows what caused Gladio’s panic attack.

Truth be told, his mind is hazy and confused for most of the conversation as he tries to make sense of what happened, of what he did wrong, of why Gladio reacted so strongly to a clean and relatively shallow cut they could’ve both healed easily.

Cor dismisses him once he realises he’s not going to get anything out of Noctis today.

Noctis thanks him and begins to walk out, but hesitates by the exit for long second before turning around to face Cor.

‘Um… where is he now?’ he asks with hints of guilt tinging his tone.

‘At home, resting. I suggest you do the same.’

—

And so he does.

He lays on the couch for most of the afternoon, tossing and turning, typing up countless variations of _Are you ok?_ on his phone, but never sending any of them to Gladio. A guilt he can’t quite explain is eating him inside as he replays the events that transpired this morning over and over again, a tumult of _What if’s_ tormenting him endlessly.

He wants to talk to Gladio, but is paralyzed by his inability to think about what happened with a clear mind.

He doesn’t need to text him after all, because Gladio decides to take matter into his own hands by showing up at his door unannounced later that night. Noctis is happy to see him, relieved to see him out and about, with dry eyes and colours back on his cheeks, but his own stomach is in knots at the thought that he wasn’t able to check up on him first, and still hasn’t mustered up the courage to tackle what happened this morning, still hasn’t found the right words to broach the subject without making everything worse.

If Gladio’s here, he figures, then maybe _he_ found them.

‘Gladio. Hey.’

‘Hey.’ A pause, as if he’s expecting something from Noctis, that the fog in his brain can’t quite make out. ‘Can I come in?’

‘R-right, sure,’ he says, shaking his head back into the moment before taking a step back to clear the entrance. Gladio doesn’t waste a moment to walk in, and proceeds to take off his shoes and hang his coat on one of the hooks by the entrance before Noctis can think of something to say.

It’s not the first time Gladio has shown up unannounced, but it _is_ the first time Gladio does so mere hours after completely losing his composure in front of Noctis. If there’s one thing he’s always known about Gladio, it’s that nothing could ever gets to him, nothing can make him falter. He realises now that it may have been an unfair assumption, especially after Noctis saw him crumble before his eyes, after Noctis was made to watch as tears trickled down the corner of Gladio’s eyes while he laid on the floor helpless and unable to move.

Truth be told, he isn’t sure what to say, isn’t sure if Gladio is here to assure him he’s fine, or to seek reassurance from Noctis, instead. It strikes him, then, that for the first time since they’ve known each other, Gladio might be the one in need of Noctis’ support, instead of the other way around; strikes him, if a bit shamefully, just how much he relies on Gladio, and just how little he gives back, all things considered.

‘C’mere,’ Gladio whispers when the silence has stretched out for too long, when the air becomes too heavy, almost unbearable.

Noctis stands on the small step that separates the entrance from the apartment’s hardwood floor, and lets Gladio pull him to his chest, both arms collapsing on top of Noctis’ shoulder as he folds nearly in half to bury his head in the crook of Noctis’ neck. Noctis has the wits to react promptly, this time, standing on the tip of his toes in a clumsy attempt at making Gladio’s position more comfortable, one arm curling itself around Gladio’s waist as his free hand finds the shaved skin of Gladio’s hair and scratches at it lightly, almost instinctively, just the way Gladio likes.

Noctis isn’t quite sure what to say, still, but he at least feels like he’s helping, in however small a way.

Gladio doesn’t move, takes long, deep breath as Noctis’ fingers slowly comb through his hair, a gesture Noctis hopes to be comforting, hesitant as it might be. Nothing about this is usual, and while it’s easy to get lost in the heat of Gladio’s body as he tries to regain his center, Noctis can’t shake the feeling that Gladio has been having a tougher time than he’s let on, of late.

When Gladio finally resurfaces, his eyes are a shinier than they were moments ago, and the sniffle he tries to hide behind the back of his hand isn’t fooling anyone. Noctis isn’t sure it would be wise to comment on it, but the realisation of the meaning behind those tears sinks in his stomach like a stone. Gladio is a crier, this is no secret, given that it’s been the target of countless jokes from Noctis in the many years they’ve known each other, but this feels different, the same way his tears this morning had felt different; uncontrolled, anguished.

Noctis looks at him, tries to catch his amber gaze, but it remains stubbornly glued to the floor as a Noctis stands on the tip of his toes once more, to try and reach Gladio’s lips in a way that he wants to seem natural. Gladio chuckles at the attempt and meets him halfway. Noctis feels a thin stray tear travel from Gladio’s cheek to his own, but doesn’t make light of it.

‘Sorry,’ Gladio mumbles, his voice still heavy and just a tad too choked up to sound any kind of fine.

‘It’s ok,’ Noctis whispers, unable to let go of the worry he’s trying to chase away from his voice.

‘I guess we should talk about that,’ he chuckles, pointing vaguely at his entire body, and heads towards the kitchen before Noctis has the time to invite him in.

He settles for the kitchen table, and Noctis isn’t quite sure whether he should join him or not. He stands awkwardly by the counter, avoiding Gladio’s gaze, berating himself for being so clumsy, so at a loss in front of him. He’s known Gladio for as long as he can remember, and there’s never been a topic they haven’t been able to talk through, never a conflict they haven’t been able to solve. It’s the fact that Gladio’s the one unable to take the first step, perhaps, that makes this so difficult. Gladio has never been one to shy away from the tough conversations. It’s his forwardness, first and foremost, that brought them closer together over a year ago, one step above friends, one step above Shield and Prince.

 

 

‘Do you… do you want something?’ Noctis asks. At Gladio’s puzzled looks, he adds an hurried ‘To drink I mean. Or eat.’

Noctis wishes he could beat himself across the head for being such a fumbling fool at such a critical time, but Gladio laughs at his poor attempt at being hospitable, and the low rumbling of his voice acts like a balm on his nerves.

‘Sure. It’s pretty late, got any herbal tea?’

‘I have… some of that crap Ignis left here last week. Chamomile?’

‘That works,’ Gladio purrs, and he’s at the stove filling Noctis’ kettle before Noctis can finish fetching the box from the back of his pantry. ‘You should try it sometimes. Balance out all that garbage you eat.’

‘I’d rather die,’ Noctis deadpans, and the pure, genuine laughter that cascades out of Gladio’s lips as a response is a welcome presence.

They fall silent as they wait for the water to boil, and Noctis falls face first into the middle of Gladio’s chest before long. His hands find the small of Gladio’s back, and he holds him tightly, with tinges of possessiveness and affection he hopes Gladio picks up on.

Once the tea is ready, and once Noctis has taken a sip from Gladio’s mug at his insistence, and promptly spat it out in the sink, punctuated by a dramatic roll of Gladio’s eyes, they settle for the kitchen table once more. The air isn’t so heavy anymore, now that Gladio has something to fidget with, now that Noctis’ heart isn’t trying to beat itself out of his chest.

But Gladio still needs to say his piece, and he dives in after a long sip and a deep exhale.

‘So. This morning was… something.’

‘Yeah,’ Noctis replies in a humourless chuckle. ‘Is it because of the…’ he adds, pointing vaguely at Gladio’s scar.

‘…Yeah,’ he sighs, ’well, kind of. It’s... it’s the blood that’s the problem. My blood.’

Noctis nods slowly, trying to wrap his head around the fact that Gladio’s issue is sort of his fault, that he’s the reason Gladio’s hurting. Gladio has never been one to squirm at the sight of blood, the countless injuries he’d endured during his years of training as Shield a concrete proof of that. But all that was before he’d gotten his face slashed in half with a broken bottle as he’d tried to protect Noctis from a drunken, pissed off asshole who had tried to pick a fight with Noctis one night. The wound had healed before long, leaving behind a large scar that Gladio hated but that Noctis couldn’t bring himself to dislike, that he kept as a reminder of all the steps he had yet to take in order to be as strong as Gladio, in order to be able to stand his own at his side, so that he wouldn’t freeze in front of danger ever again, so that Gladio wouldn’t need to get hurt because him ever again.

Maybe this line of thinking had been naïve of him, given that Gladio is his sworn Shield, given that Gladio is expected to take the hits for him, but the thought alone had lit a fire inside of Noctis, one that had made Gladio so happy, so proud of him; and that alone was motivation enough to keep going.

‘Is… is there a way to make it… better?’ Noctis asks, finally pulling himself out of his own head.

‘I could see someone, like my dad wants. Ramble on and on about it for months until maybe, eventually, something changes,’ Gladio spits.

‘…Or?’

‘Or I could… keep bleeding until I can associate it with… something more positive.’

 ‘What… what do you mean?’ Noctis squints at him, unsure he wants to get to what he’s saying.

‘I mean,’ he sighs, takes a long breath, rubs both eyes with careful fingers, ‘I want you to… make me not scared of my own blood. I just… I’ve been reading a lot about, um… about knife play. I really think it could help.’

Noctis still can’t muster a reaction to Gladio’s words. He’s still trying to wrap his head around the fact that Gladio, tall, strong, unshakeable, unbreakable Gladio is in enough distress that he needs to ask _him_ of all people to do something so risky, yet so intimate; ask him to hurt him so he can stop hurting, to cut him open so gently, so tenderly that Noctis’ hands inflicting this pain upon him is all he will be able think of the next time he gets hurt in the field, the next time his own blood pierces his skin and stains his hands and uniform.

‘… Gladio, I don’t…’

‘I know this is a lot,’ he interrupts, ‘but I… I need you to do this for me, Noct. There’s no one else I can ask. No one else I can trust with this.’

Noctis stares at him for long second, and the distress in Gladio’s eyes, the quivering of his voice make Noctis’ decision for him. He doesn’t respond as he gets off his chair, as he walks up to Gladio’s side, as he wraps both arms around Gladio’s shoulders, as Gladio takes a moment to react, as his arms settle around Noctis’ waist seconds later, as he burrows in face in Noctis’ shirt, sucking in long, shuddering breaths, as Noctis’ lips find the top of his head.

‘I’ll do it,’ he murmurs, and the sigh of relief Gladio lets out at the words, the way he melts into Noctis like the heaviest of burdens had been lifted from his shoulders, convince Noctis it’s the right thing to do.

—

They decide to wait a week before their first attempt, to allow the both of them to calm down, to let the decision sink in until Noctis’ hands can stop shaking at the mere thought of injuring Gladio on purpose. He would be lying if he said he isn’t terrified of the task ahead of him. The fact that Gladio is entrusting Noctis’ hands with his own life is a responsibility he’s having trouble accepting. The sheer amount of ways this could go wrong, terribly wrong, of ways Noctis could fuck this up, and make Gladio’s situation even worse, are enough to keep him awake for the first two nights following their conversation.

Gladio makes a point of texting Noctis throughout the week, despite their busy schedules, because Gladio knows Noctis all too well, knows how easily he closes off when he worries, knows how hard it can be to get him to speak when he’s left alone with his own thoughts for too long. Noctis tries as best as he can to be diligent with his responses, for once, because now that he’s aware of Gladio’s issue, now that he realises how badly he’d underestimated the extent of the impact the attack has had on Gladio, he finally understands how vital it is for him to be there for Gladio, alert and present and responsive. It’s never been his strong suit, the whole _communication_ aspect of relationships, and it has never truly bothered Gladio in the past, given how independent and understanding he’s always been in all things concerning Noctis. But that was before the accident, before Gladio had found himself unable to deal with a much more visceral, crippling pain than anything he’d ever faced, a pain that had nothing to do with bruised skin and broken bones, a pain the sharp sting of a potion coursing through his veins couldn’t fix. For once, Noctis needs to support him instead of the other way around, and while he feels guilty that he’s left Gladio to carry the largest, heaviest part of their relationship on his own, it’s quickly overridden by his desire to be better, to carry his weight, to help Gladio in the same ways he knows Gladio would help him, were the roles reversed.

Despite the numerous articles Gladio has been sending him, despite his own research, Noctis inevitably finds himself knocking at Ignis’ door for advice. While Ignis is aware of Gladio’s predicament, his title as best friend demanding it, he still seems blindsided by Noctis’ question.

‘What makes you think I know the first thing about knife play?’ he asks after he finishes choking on his sip of coffee.

‘I mean… Am I wrong?’ Noctis simply shrugs, and the disdainful look Ignis flings his way confirms that he’s right on the money. Ignis might think he’s being subtle with the pure lust that fills his eyes when he so much as looks at his daggers, but it doesn’t take a genius to figure him out.

‘I suppose I know a thing or two,’ he finally yields, and Noctis gloats at the admission for a few seconds before falling into a warm sense of relief at the thought that Ignis can help him through this task.

They talk for a long time, the initial awkwardness of discussing such personal matters with his childhood best friend evaporating quickly, thanks in part to the precise, almost medical way Ignis tackles the subject.

They talk for a long time, about supplies and curatives, about consent and boundaries, about tricks and techniques, about how to make sure they both enjoy themselves, how to makes sure it doesn’t end in a bloodbath.

It’s a lot to take in, but Ignis’ explanations are thorough and precise, and before long, the task ahead begins to look a bit let daunting.

‘If I may, Noct,’ Ignis adds as Noctis gets ready to leave, ‘please… be kind to him. Go slow, be gentle, and reassuring, and kind. He deserves as much.’

 _Please remember that Gladio is human, just like you,_ Noctis really hears. _Please remember that what Gladio is asking you to do now, leaving his own safety into your hands, is what he’s been entrusted to do with your own life since birth. Please remember that he loves you, that he’s doing this for himself, to heal, to honour his oath to protect you, but also, and most importantly, out of love for you. Please remember that._

 _Please do not take him for granted,_ Noctis truly hears, resonating through his skull. Because he has been, in a way. And there will be a time for him to truly make amends, but right now, all that truly matters is that Gladio is in pain, and that he needs him, and that their lives are intertwined in such deep, intricate ways, in ways that always leave Gladio short-handed, no matter which way they look at it, that Noctis owes it to him to do this right, to help him heal from the pain he’s indirectly caused. Noctis owes it to him because he loves him, despite his inability to express it at times, deeply, undeniably, unequivocally.

‘Thanks, Ignis,’ he says, and when leaves the small office, his step is just a bit lighter than when he first came in.

—

On Friday afternoon, just as planned, Gladio is waiting by Noctis’ apartment building when the young prince gets home from the Citadel. Neither speaks a word as they waddle towards the elevator, as Gladio lifts Noctis’ chin up with one finger and kisses him slowly, softly, the second the doors are shut. It’s unusual, still, the quietness, the restraint in his touches, like Gladio is in a haze of concern and unease Noctis wishes he knew how to chase away.

The air weighs heavy between them as Noctis fumbles with his keys, trying to unlock the door to his apartment. Gladio leans against the doorframe, staring at the opposing wall in a calm that’s a bit too dissipated to seem like his usual self. Noctis wishes he had the words to soothe, to appease, the same way Gladio always does for him in times of need, but he’s too nervous to come up with anything worthwhile. The most helpful thing he can do at the moment is open the damn door, which he finally manages to do, and Gladio follows him inside without a word, closing and locking it up behind them. Noctis notices the unsteadiness of Gladio’s fingers as he takes off his boots, and he’s reminded of Gladio’s last visit a week ago, where the air had been equally tense, but not in the same ways, not quite for the same reasons.

Noctis knows he needs to be on top of things today, to show Gladio that he’s got his back just as much as Gladio’s got his, but truth be told, he’s terrified. Terrified of how Gladio will react, terrified that he’ll fuck up, somehow, that he’ll lose his cool and send Gladio spiralling in the process, that—

Noctis closes his eyes and shakes the thoughts out of his head. The time is for confidence and tenderness, and while they have never been his strong suits, the least Gladio deserves is his best attempt at it.

He turns around to face Gladio, whose hands are stuffed in the pockets of his jeans in a feeble effort at hiding their trembling. Noctis tugs at his wrists, and Gladio is surprisingly pliant as Noctis leads his arms to circle his own hips. His hands cup Noctis’ ass cheeks almost instinctively, and Noctis smiles as he feels a shy warmth spread across his nose and onto his cheeks. Gladio laughs at the sight and lets himself be pulled down into a kiss as Noctis lets go of his wrists and digs his fingers deep into his hair, wresting control of their embrace, chaste and soft at first, but growing deeper and needier by the second. Gladio hums as their tongues meet, and it takes all of Noctis’ resolve not to let him take over, not to melt into his touch.

Noctis’ hands slowly travel from Gladio’s hair all the way down to his hips, basking in the strong shapes of Gladio’s body along the way, revelling in how small his hands feel against Gladio’s wide chest, giving a playful squeeze at the thickness of his muscles, their lips still entangled in an overwhelming heat, Gladio letting out a breathless chuckle, then inhaling sharply at each touch, each nip to his lips. Noctis finds the hem of his shirt after tortuously long seconds and slips his fingers underneath the fabric, digging his blunt fingernails into the skin of his back. Gladio moans at the sensation, and he’s lifted Noctis from the ground and pulled him to his chest before Noctis can protest, strong arms tightening under his ass as his own arms instinctively hook themselves to Gladio’s shoulders, and his legs around his waist.

‘I thought I was in charge,’ Noctis scolds, and Gladio simply laughs, his lips roaming across Noctis’ jaw before finally settling in the nook of his neck, nipping at the sensitive skin hungrily.

‘I’ll stop if you want,’ he purrs against Noctis’ skin, and continues planting playful kisses against the smoothness of his throat. Noctis almost lets him get away with it, closing his eyes for a split second as he feels himself grow hard the same way Gladio already is underneath him. He comes back to his senses and tugs lightly at Gladio’s hair, who doesn’t resist, who flings a cheeky grin his way, which Noctis is set on kissing off his damn face.

‘Just… bedroom,’ he breathes against Gladio’s lips, and Gladio obeys without fuss. Noctis regains control of the situation, holding the sides of Gladio’s head with a possessive grip as they slowly make their way to the bedroom.

‘Wait,’ Noctis whispers when Gladio leans over the tall mattress to drop Noctis onto the bed like he has so many times before. Gladio stops his movement and stands back up, holding Noctis firmly while he awaits his command.

‘Sit,’ he says, which Gladio does with an arched eyebrow and a playful grin, still holding onto Noctis as he turns around swiftly, a lingering smile on his lips, his cheeks flushed, his eyes half-lidded. Noctis gets off the bed once Gladio has settled onto the mattress and stands between his parted legs, his hands resting on Gladio’s thighs.

He stares at him for long seconds, at his mussed hair, at his shirt, rumpled from Noctis’ greedy hold, at the swollen bulge in his already tight jeans, begging to be freed, at the lust in his eyes as Noctis’s palms rub mindlessly up and down his thighs. Noctis then gets back to what he’d been trying to do earlier, before they’d gotten carried away. He slides both hands towards Gladio’s stomach, his fingers finding the hem of Gladio’s t-shirt and pulling at it gently. Gladio lifts both arms as Noctis slowly slides the piece of clothing against his torso and past his head, and then leans back onto the comforter and watches Noctis throw away the t-shirt unceremoniously towards the corner of the room. Noctis looks at him some more, the tip of his fingers wandering against his sculpted skin, following the thick lines of his tattoo as Gladio’s attentive eyes follow his every move, a lingering smile on his lips as he lets Noctis do what he must to get comfortable, to take the reins and lead the two of them through this challenge.

The mood shifts when Noctis’ hesitant fingers scale the length of Gladio’s throat. Gladio closes his eyes, as if bracing himself for what will inevitably come next. He breathes in deeply under the sensation of the soft pads of Noctis’ fingers tiptoeing around the scar that splits his left cheek in two, and his hand finds the small of Noctis’ back when the ghost of swollen lips follows the kiss of Noctis’ fingers, feather light and warm and almost unbearable against Gladio’s flushed skin.

‘You ready?’ Noctis whispers, his lips brushing over Gladio’s shut eyelids, and although he notices the shuddering in Gladio’s exhale, he doesn’t make light of it. Gladio nods after long seconds, and Noctis kisses him some more, delicate and sweet, before pushing him towards the back of the bed.

Gladio settles in the pile of cushions and pillows as Noctis takes off his own shirt and crawls towards him, towering him as he reaches for Gladio’s belt, peppering soft kisses across the taut muscles of his stomach, trailing lower and lower with each tug against Gladio’s pants and underwear. Gladio’s hand finds the back of Noctis’ head, combing mindlessly through the messy black strands of hair. Gladio is already hard when Noctis finishes struggling with the pants, but before Noctis can get a good grip on his cock, Gladio is pulling him back up, holding him close, their naked chests flush as Gladio ravishes him in a searing mess of lips and teeth and tongues, and pulled hair and the slow grind of their hips.

‘I’m ready,’ Gladio whispers once Noctis has pulled away, and Noctis kisses him once more, slower, lighter this time around. He then lets go of Gladio, missing the heat of his body almost instantly. He gets off the bed to take off his own pants, and settles back down between Gladio’s legs, propping the bulk of his thighs on top of his own. Gladio’s legs wrap themselves around his waist much like Noctis’ had moments ago, and the familiarity, the comfort, the ease with which they fall into each other fill Noctis with a pleasant warmth, peaceful and grounding.

‘Um… do you want to watch?’ Noctis asks softly once he’s found his bearings, remembering Ignis’ advice. Gladio takes a deep breath, rubs both of his eyes with the palms of his hands, to ground himself into the moment, to give himself the courage to carry on.

‘No,’ he finally says, ‘not… not until there’s blood.’

‘Gotcha,’ Noctis whispers before reaching for the sleep mask in his nightstand.

‘So you just have a blindfold handy like that, huh?’ Gladio asks, the lightness in his tone a sharp contrast to the worried curve of his eyebrows. 

‘It’s, um, for afternoon naps,’ Noctis shrugs. Gladio snickers at his response, and leans forward to let Noctis slip the mask around his head. Noctis presses a chaste kiss against Gladio’s lips one more time for good measure, then retreats back to his initial place.

He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, then, and exhales slowly through his nose in an attempt to relieve the knot that’s been slowly building up in his stomach in anticipation for this very moment. From this point on, he’s in charge. He’s the one calling the shots, the one responsible for anything that might happen, good or bad. All the reading he’s been doing over the week, along with Ignis’ instructions and the videos he’s watched over and over again to try and become familiar with the process, with the movements, with the soothing touches and reassuring words… it has all been in preparation for this very moment. He’s ready, but he’s not, and he’s confident, but he’s not. He’s terrified.

But he’s not.

 _For Gladio,_ he thinks as he finally opens his eyes and summons a switchblade from his Armiger. 

‘Give me your hand?’ Noctis asks once he feels his voice is steady enough to allow him to speak. He takes the hand that Gladio extends, presses a kiss against the open palm that sends a faint shiver throughout Gladio’s body, and holds it open in his own. ‘I’ll, um, let you feel the blade, ok? This one us dull,’ he murmurs, and waits for Gladio’s nod of approval before carrying on.

He remembers Ignis’ words at the last second, and summons a stream of ice magic to his palm, holding the blade in his hand to chill it through and through. Once he’s done, he shakes his hand until it raises back to an acceptable temperature, and takes hold of Gladio’s hand again, running the ice-cold metal against his open palm. Gladio is startled by the sensation, the pace of his breath accelerating as Noctis slices slowly against his palm, the pressure light and pleasant, just like Noctis has been practicing on his own skin all week.

‘Was that ok?’

‘Yes,’ Gladio murmurs after deep breaths and long seconds of hesitation.

Noctis takes hold of Gladio’s wrist and lays the muscled arm alongside the length of his body.

‘I, um, I’m going in, ok?’

Gladio says nothing, his entire body going stiff as he holds his breath, bracing himself for the imminent contact.

Noctis pauses.

‘Talk to me, Gladio. You have to tell me, or—’ he starts in a voice that’s much calmer than the whirlwind of _fuck fuck fuck_ rushing inside him.

‘Go ahead,’ Gladio interrupts, his voice a low and breathy rumble.

Noctis takes a deep breath, and dives in.

He starts on his right arm, pressing the tip of the blade with just enough force to leave a thin red mark, but not enough to break the skin. Gladio starts at the first contact, and his chest tides up and down at a concerning pace, a whining sound escaping his throat despite his best efforts to hold it in. Noctis whispers a string of reassuring words that feels pointless but seem to get to Gladio regardless, his breathing falling into the rhythm of Noctis’ _It’s ok. Shh, it’s ok._

Noctis keeps going until he reaches the top of Gladio’s shoulder, following the line of his clavicle with a careful and steady pressure, careful not to break the skin, carefully watching for Gladio’s reaction. He finally lifts the blade and immediately sends it away in a flash of blue specks. Gladio exhales at last, the wince on his face visible despite the blindfold.

‘How did that feel?’ Noctis asks, his fingers trailing along the slightly puffy line he just created, and he feels his heart swell at how brave Gladio is being, how gorgeous he looks right then and there, so strong, yet so pliant under his touch.

‘…not great. But not bad,’ he lets out in a quivering sigh.

‘Do you want to keep going?’

Long seconds pass as Gladio tries to catch his breath, fidgeting against the side of Noctis’ leg as he weighs his options. Noctis’ hand finds his cheek, his thumb brushing light circles against his damp skin.

‘Yes,’ he breathes at long last.

‘Ok. Ok,’ he whispers.

He’s reminded of Ignis’ words then, of ways to keep Gladio grounded, of things he can give him to focus on, to derail his pain and his nerves, to turn an unpleasant sensation into an enjoyable one.

He summons the knife again, applies more ice magic to it, gives Gladio a small warning that he’s about to start, and travels a mirrored path, starting at the wrist of his left arm this time. Gladio inhales sharply once more, a faint whine escaping his lips before he can stop it.

‘Do you… do you know how gorgeous you are like this?’ he whispers, once he reaches his chest. ‘So… so good. So strong for me,’ he continues through Gladio’s panting. The words feel useless and empty coming out of his mouth, but the way Gladio grips his legs at the sound of his voice, the way his breathing seems to even out, ever so slightly, the way he seems to hold onto his words like he’s holding onto him convinces Noctis to keep going. The words of praise cascade out of his lips as Noctis keeps grazing past his clavicle, drawing large arcs across the taut skin of his chest, and down towards his navel, leaving behind a thin red line, prompting a series of distraught whines out of Gladio. Noctis dismisses the knife once more then, and immediately presses his lips around the scratched marks, working his way up with thorough precision, humming in the back of his throat as he kisses the blemished skin, as he touches it with the tip of his tongue, a rush of pride and lust overtaking him at the thought of how brave, how strong, how beautiful Gladio is being for him. He notices it, then, the twitch in Gladio’s hardening cock, the change in the franticness of his breathing, morphing from frightened into aroused somewhere along the way, that does a number on Noctis’ composure.

‘Fuck, Gladio,’ he groans, and Gladio chuckles at that, not quite as assured as he would normally be, but equally surprised by his own arousal.

They remove the blindfold, then, and Noctis crawls on top of Gladio, kissing away the tears prickling at the corner of his eyes and trickling down his cheeks.

‘You’re doing so well,’ he whispers in between kisses, ‘so, so well,’ and the look in Gladio’s eyes, the way they seem to anchor into his like they’re the only thing holding the fleeting pieces of his body together, the pure, unadulterated trust pouring out of his amber gaze; it’s a sight that etches itself into Noctis’ memory forever.

The grind of Gladio’s hips against Noctis’, slow at first, but growing harder and steadier by the second, prompts a hungry moan out of Noctis’ throat, and he kisses Gladio’s plump lips with an eagerness he didn’t know he had in him. Gladio hums into the kiss, his hands sliding down Noctis’ back and under the band of his underwear, giving his ass a firm squeeze as he pulls him towards his aching cock, and the pressure is too much and not enough at once.

It’s almost an impossible effort to pull himself away from the heat of Gladio’s body, but Noctis does it anyway, because he has to, because they’re not quite done yet. Gladio closes his eyes as he remembers the monumental task still ahead, his hands still holding onto Noctis’ ass cheeks, unwilling to let go just yet.

‘Sorry Gladio,’ Noctis whispers with a shy smile as he gets off of him as reluctantly as the very slow slip of Gladio’s fingers out of Noctis’ underwear. ‘How are you feeling?’

‘Right now? A little cockblocked,’ he chuckles, and Noctis promptly smacks his ass in response. ‘I’m… ok,’ he adds, a weak smile lingering on his lips.

‘This, um, this next part… It won’t be easy, Gladio.’

‘I know.’

‘And you can tap out at any time.’

‘I know.’

‘But I’ll… I’ll take good care of you, ok?’

 _Do you trust me?_ he wants to ask when his insecurity starts to rear its ugly head again, but he takes a deep breath and chases the thought away, his fingers wandering aimlessly up and down Gladio’s thighs. Gladio closes his eyes, the rise and fall of his chest following the rhythm of Noctis’ breathing before long. There’s something entrancing to this moment, a connection between them, the length of which Noctis had never been able to seize until this very moment. They find comfort in every touch, every inch of skin against skin, every tender word whispered under their breaths.

‘Go ahead,’ Gladio finally says, holding onto Noctis’ legs a touch too tightly, but Noctis refuses to complain about it.

He summons the second switchblade, one Ignis bought, sharpened and disinfected for him earlier today. He also grabs a small bottle of antiseptic gel, a cotton pad and a towel, which he sets aside for later use.

‘I can’t believe,’ Gladio laughs weakly, ‘you’re keeping all this shit in the Armiger.’

‘Ignis said to put it somewhere safe when I’m not using it…’ Noctis shrugs, and Gladio laughs some more, until the cold of the gel hits his skin, a stark reminder of what’s to come.

 _I’m sorry,_ Noctis wants to say, but doesn’t. Because there’s no need to be. Because this is what Gladio wants, even if it’s hard, even if it’s unpleasant. This is what Gladio wants, and so this is what Noctis wants.

Once Noctis gets rid on the cotton pad, the size of the task ahead suddenly dawns on him. He remembers Gladio’s distressed eyes a mere week ago, remembers the sound of his erratic breaths, of his sobs, remembers his own guilt, remembers his helplessness.

He was helpless then, but he’s in control now. He couldn’t handle Gladio’s pain then, but he can now. He can handle it, and control it, and create it and make it go away as he pleases. Such is the kind of power Gladio has entrusted in him, and he refuses to let him down, refuses to let their fear win.

‘Arms under your head,’ he commands, the words coming out far steadier than he’d expected. Gladio has no choice but to comply, letting go of his tight grip on Noctis’ legs to fold both arms under the back of his head. ‘I’m going to make two cuts on each leg,’ he continues. ‘Can you take it for me, Gladio?’

Gladio closes his eyes, and tears start to gather under his eyelashes at the mere thought. ‘I can,’ he whispers despite it all, relinquishing all control, his trust in Noctis unending and absolute, which Noctis takes it as the tremendous honour that it is.

He readjusts their position, securing Gladio’s thighs on top of his own, making sure both of their bodies are steady and comfortable. He then counts down from three, and without hesitation, sinks the sharp edge of the blade into the thick skin of Gladio’s thigh.

 _‘Shit,’_ Gladio gasps once Noctis has inflicted the first cut. He notices the blood then, his pupils blown wide as the first few drops trickle out of the cut and down the skin of his thigh. He lets out a choked sob, but doesn’t move, doesn’t back down.

‘Stay with me,’ Noctis says. ‘That’s one. Three more, Gladio. Can you do that for me?’

‘Yes,’ he groans, tears running down his cheeks as the blood races down his skin.

Noctis counts down once more, makes a second incision half an inch above the first one in a single swift motion. Gladio hisses at the sharp pain, squeezes his eyes shut when the red stream oozing out of the cut joins the blood leaking from the first one.

‘Open your eyes,’ Noctis orders, ‘I want you to see how fucking brave you’re being.’

Gladio winces at the word, but opens his eyes regardless, half-lidded and resolute despite the pained sobs simmering in his throat.

‘Two more,’ Noctis says as he readjusts his position to cut into his other leg. ‘Can you take two more for me?’

‘Yes,’ he hisses, holding his breath as he braces himself for the third cut, his torment almost unbearable. Noctis wishes he could stop right then and there, but he is convinced Gladio would never forgive him if he let him get off scot-free that way. This is a hurdle they both need to get past, and at the end of the day, there’s mercy in this pain, closure in these open wounds, and a brand new life waiting for them at the end of this. So Noctis doesn’t quiver, doesn’t let himself soften up, and inflicts on Gladio the pain that will set him free.

‘Last one, Gladio. You’re doing so fucking well, can you take one more for me?’

‘ _Yes, fuck_ ,’ he screams, his anger and resolve an unhinged storm ravaging all of his being, and Noctis has never been so proud when he makes the last cut, when the blood oozes out of the incision, when Gladio stares at it, unblinking despite the tears streaming down his cheeks, despite the whimper he lets out with fierce abandon, set on winning this stand-off, set on coming out of this victorious, and more resilient and stronger than he ever thought he could be.

‘Look at this,’ Noctis whispers as he takes in the result of his own ministrations, the steady rhythm of Gladio’s breathing, the slow dripping of the blood against his skin. ‘You’ve been so brave for me, thank you,’ he breathes, and he would kiss him everywhere and all over if he could.

‘ _Fuck,’_ is all Gladio can muster the strength to say, his voice no more than a murmur, and that’s sufficient for Noctis as he finally summons an elixir and cracks it against Gladio’s naked skin. The shallow wounds are mended within seconds, and Noctis cleans up the blood as thoroughly as he can.

Once Gladio is clean and safe, Noctis crawls on top of him once more, wiping his tears away with all the tenderness he can gather.

‘How are you feeling?’ he breathes, pressing his lips against Gladio’s closed eyelid, red and swollen from the tears.

‘I’m ok,’ he responds, unfolding his arms and running his still shaking fingers along the length of Noctis’ spine.

‘Can you move? We should clean up properly.’

‘Give me a minute,’ he says, low and barely audible, but with a calm look on his face at long last.

Noctis gives him all the minutes he needs, and when they fall back into bed after cleaning up, after making sure that Gladio is doing ok, that he’ll be ok, that this was helpful at all, the love they make is unlike anything they’ve shared up until this day. Noctis’ touches are precise and desperate, and he’s taken by a possessiveness, a fire he unleashes onto Gladio until he’s nothing but a writhing mess at his mercy. When they finally find release, the sensations are intense and overwhelming in all the best of ways.

Gladio deserves as much.

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Comments and kudos are, as always, wildly appreciated! ♥


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